I looked at her name tag, which read Vicki. Her breath smelled of hamburger meat—my favorite—so I licked her mouth. She smiled and gave me a long stroke from my head to my tail.
To be on the safe side, Vicki decided to bring me up to the front office. After Theresa told her it was okay for me to be out and about, I followed her back to the laundry room, before continuing down the hallway toward Marjorie’s room.
As I got closer, I could feel my heart begin to beat faster. Her door was open, but again, no one was inside. I sniffed and looked around for any new clues about her condition, but didn’t find any. Although I was sad that Marjorie wasn’t there, seeing her things untouched made me hopeful that she was coming back. It was just a matter of time.
When I left the room to continue making my rounds, I crossed paths with Walter. He glanced over at me and grunted, before heading down the hallway in the opposite direction.
When I passed by the library, I saw a handful of Marjorie’s friends gathered together for their knitting group. Virginia Woodson, Marjorie’s best friend at SunRidge, spotted me standing in the hall and called me to her.
“Come and keep us company, Wrigley,” she said, happy to see me. “We could use a dog’s love right about now.”
I greeted each of the ladies, soaking up their warm reception, and sniffing at their yarn and knitting needles. With all of the different colored bundles of fuzzy string they had gathered around them, this group would be a cat’s meow.
After I found a spot on the floor to lie, I listened while the women talked about the new patterns and yarns they were excited about. However, it didn’t take long for Marjorie’s name to come up in the conversation.
“Oh, I hope she gets better soon,” Betty Severson said, holding her hand over her heart. “I called my pastor this morning and we prayed together for her. This place just wouldn’t be the same without Marjorie.”
“Think positive, Betty… I think everything’s going to be alright,” Bernice Carmichael offered. “Next week this time, she’ll be sitting right here with us, telling us some funny story about her hospital stay.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” Betty replied. “I just worry about Marjorie . . . she has so many health complications.”
“Don’t we all,” Bernice responded.
“Thank God for knitting,” Joyce Brower said, changing the subject. “It’s great therapy for times like these.”
“Joyce, can you believe I’ve been knitting since I was seven years old?” Virginia asked.
“How’d you start?” Joyce asked.
“My mother was a Girl Scout leader. She was teaching my older sister, and the other girls, and I wanted to learn.”
“My husband used to give me a hard time, because I couldn’t watch television without knitting,” Betty interjected.
“I didn’t know there was any other way to watch TV,” Bernice responded with a laugh.
“I used to love knitting sweaters,” Joan Tartunian shared with the group, “but with this darn arthritis, now I stick to socks and smaller stuff.”
“Nobody tell Wrigley,” Virginia said in a hushed voice, “but I’m going to make him something really special.”
I popped up at the mention of my name, and put my head on Virginia’s lap.
“Look at him . . . now he’s curious,” Joan said, laughing.
“Did you understand what I was saying?” Virginia asked me, while petting my head, “Well, you’ll just have to wait to see what it is.”
The tranquility of five women knitting was suddenly interrupted by the enthusiasm of two energetic kids, when a family friend of Marjorie’s, who didn’t know she was in the hospital, dropped off her teenagers for a visit.
The ladies were at a loss as to how to handle the situation, and there was an awkward feeling in the room. Luckily, Jane came by and took the teenagers, Griffin and Skylar, out to the courtyard.
When they returned, having learned where Marjorie was, the children were sad and subdued. Knowing that kids and dogs go together like peanut butter and chocolate, Jane suggested, “Why don’t you guys take Wrigley down to the park.”
I looked up at everyone, excited and ready to go.
Most of my walks were around the grounds of SunRidge, or if Jane or Theresa were up for a longer one, we’d go around the neighboring streets. So Bennett Park, a few blocks away, was a nice treat.
The place I wished we could visit more often was the dog park. Every time we went there, I had so much fun. Unfortunately, it was a decent distance from SunRidge, and time is in short supply for a working family, like the Petersons.
When we arrived at the park, the kids let me off the leash, and I ran around with a rambunctious brown dog named Leroy. I had met him once before on one of my walks with Theresa or Jane; I can’t remember which.
On that occasion, Leroy was much more likable, because he was on a leash. This time, he had an annoying, insatiable desire to hump me. Whenever I got close, he glommed on to my backside and wouldn’t let go.
His owner, a man in his 50’s, wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt, didn’t seem to notice or care. He was too busy singing this song—He’s glad, glad Leroy Brown, happiest dog in the whole damn town, romping and running all around, free from that God-awful pound—over and over again, in a horribly bad voice.
After Leroy and his owner left, the kids and I played a great game of hide and seek. They scurried off and hid behind large trees and trash cans, and then called my name. When I found them, they rewarded me with a liver treat from a small baggie Jane gave them before we left.
As we were heading back to SunRidge, the youngest kid, Griffin (they always have the best ideas) suggested an alternate plan. First, we’d go across the street and get a soft serve ice-cream, and then we’d return.
The kids ordered a small cup of vanilla for me, and put it on one of the outdoor benches where we sat. I excitedly licked away, finishing before anyone. Skylar, sensing I was still not satisfied, gave me the last piece of her cone.
Once we returned, and the kids said goodbye to Jane, I went back to the front office and laid on my bed. Before I fell asleep, I thought about Marjorie. Why was it taking so long for her to come back? Was she getting better? Did she miss my company?
11
The following morning, after I finished my breakfast, I walked out of the front office and saw Marjorie’s daughter, Maureen, coming in alone through the sliding glass entrance. The sorrow and heaviness on her face told me that Marjorie was in very bad shape, or had passed away. Sensing her mood, I gave her a subtle greeting before walking by her side to her mother’s room.
While Maureen slowly wandered around the living room, touching and holding some of Marjorie’s things, I laid down on the kitchen floor. When she went into the bedroom, I waited a few moments before joining her, and found a spot beside the armoire. I watched, as she made a loop around the room, and then sat down on the side of her mother’s bed.
For a long while, Maureen just sat there, staring at the floor, lost in thought. Then, she looked over and seemed to notice me for the first time. She softly patted the bed for me to come to her. I walked over, sat by her feet, and looked up.
“My mother loved you so much, Wrigley,” she told me, her eyes swollen and red. “Thank you for comforting her the way you did.” She stopped talking for a few moments and rubbed the side of my face before continuing. “I thought for sure I’d have her for a few more years, but God has his reasons. She’s with my father now.”
There are times I’ve wished dogs could speak, but this was not one of them. I knew there was nothing I could say to make the moment easier for Marjorie’s daughter. So I leaned my head against her knee, while she ran her hand through my coat, and cried.
I had been with family members in these situations before, and felt their unbearable grief and loss. Time—the best remedy—took time, and that was a long way off. My job was to be a bridge of comfort for as long as they needed me.
“She was the
best mother I could have ever wished for,” Maureen told me, dabbing her tears with a tissue, “but we didn’t start out close.”
I backed away from her, jumped on the bed, and rested on my side. She followed my lead, and fell back on the bed, lying beside me with her head propped on a pillow.
“I was jealous that she belonged to the world as much as she belonged to me,” she went on. “But I grew to understand that she was an angel, and angels always have people around them.”
Maureen stopped talking for a moment and stared at a large photograph of her mother and father on the wall. The picture showed Marjorie and Frank in their later years, arm in arm at the beach with happy grins on their faces. “They were quite a pair,” she said with a smile. “It’s hard to find love that lasts that long for the right reasons. They had their differences, like any couple, but as my mother often told me, they vowed to never go to bed angry at one another.” Maureen turned her head and looked back toward me. “I was blessed to have two incredible parents. They were nurturing, loving, and supportive, and when the time came, they let me fly from the nest to make my way in the world. Roots and wings, a child can’t ask for anything more.”
Maureen grew quiet and teary-eyed again, so I leaned over and gave her hand the warm tongue treatment, licking it over and over again. When I finished, I turned and rolled onto my back. We were both staring at the ceiling now, which struck Maureen as funny, and she burst out laughing.
“Only a dog could make me laugh at a time like this,” she said, leaning over to rub my belly.
After a few more minutes, Maureen got up and gathered a few of her mother’s belongings, and walked back to the front office. She gave Jane and Theresa long hugs goodbye, and then reached down, cradled my head in her hands, and kissed my forehead before leaving.
A couple of days later, I watched sadly as movers paraded past the front office, taking away everything from Marjorie’s room. I knew it would only be a matter of time before another resident would occupy her space. Life goes on. But a person you love becomes a part of you, and it’s hard to imagine life without them.
You’d think being a dog with a short life compared to a human, and living at an assisted living home, I’d have some great wisdom on death. I wish I did. I know one day I’ll comfort my last resident, chase my last ball, and taste my last treat. It happens to all of us. We reach the end of the line. I suppose life is about what you do before that time comes.
Judging from the love Marjorie’s daughter, friends, and I had for her, she had done quite a lot.
12
Marjorie was special. Everyone at SunRidge was sad, and we all did our best to move through the sorrow and carry on.
The Petersons knew that I was closer to Marjorie than any other resident, and that many people at SunRidge referred to me as her dog. They went out of their way to keep my spirits up.
Jane let me run free in the courtyard more often than usual, Tamara took me on walks around SunRidge during her lunch break; Ron took me to the dog park one weekend afternoon, and Veronica—knowing my obsession for stuffed animals—gave me a cute, fleece pig, who squealed for mercy, but I didn’t show it any.
It all helped, but I still felt best sitting inside the doorway of Marjorie’s now vacant room, thinking that at any moment I’d smell her scent, or see her slowly coming down the hallway behind her walker, smiling.
No such miracle occurred.
Instead, one day, while I was sitting in my spot, a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel puppy came wiggling down the hallway, with a human companion. The dog couldn’t have been more than a few months old, and she had a pink bow tied above her ear. She was still in that puppy stage when your body wobbles like Jell-O, and it’s hard to concentrate on anything for long.
As she approached me, I stood up and sniffed her from behind and then below. When her companion gently pulled on her leash to continue walking, I followed her irresistible scent to the living room, where a group of seniors were gathered.
The puppy’s human companion took her one by one to visit with the seniors, lifting her onto their laps. The residents showered her with kisses, scratches, and treats. It was a love fest, and the first time in a long time, the attention at SunRidge was being directed at a dog other than me.
“Oh my, she’s beautiful,” one resident gushed.
“What’s her name?” another resident asked.
“This is Daphne,” her human companion answered.
“She’d sure make someone a fine dog,” someone else added.
“Can you put her on my lap, please?” a resident requested.
“She’s so sweet . . . soft too,” another one commented.
You often hear people singing the praises of dogs—we’re smart, selfless, loyal, and the list goes on. But nothing in life is perfect, except for things you can eat or chew. Dogs can be super-jealous. I’m living proof.
As the puppy continued to be passed around, I sniffed at her, and tried to nose my way between her and the residents, hoping to intercept some of the attention she was getting. My efforts were useless—everyone was totally smitten with the puppy.
Watching the residents respond to Daphne reminded me of my days at the shelter, when humans would go gaga whenever a puppy was up for adoption. I always thought it was short-sighted to fall in love with something that’s not going to stay that way for very long. At least with a grown or older dog, you know what you’re getting. But maybe that was just sour grapes, because I was being passed over for younger pups.
Okay, fine, let them fawn over you, Daphne, and then be gone, I thought to myself, as I withdrew and laid down nearby.
Aside from my jealousy, I had an important, unanswered question—Is this a regular occurrence or a one-time mistake?
Thankfully, it turned out that the puppy belonged to one of the residents’ great- grandchildren, and she thought the seniors would enjoy meeting the dog.
I was already sad about losing Marjorie, and seeing the residents doting on another dog didn’t help my spirits.
Later that day, camped out again inside of Marjorie’s doorway, even someone as insensitive as Walter seemed to notice I wasn’t my usual spunky self. After coming out of his room to complain about the noise the cleaning crew was making, while they prepared Marjorie’s room for the next resident, he actually spoke to me.
“I know you liked the old lady, but that’s life. You’re born and you die, and the truth is there’s not much in-between, but struggle and strife,” he said, before walking back to his room.
I was shocked when he returned moments later, holding a box of peanut butter biscuits—the ones Marjorie kept on her kitchen counter.
“I grabbed these from her room, before they took everything away. You want one?” he asked me, holding a biscuit in his hand.
Of course I did. They were my favorites. But I wanted to show Walter that it would take more than food to win my friendship. So I gently took the biscuit from his hand, and then let it drop from my mouth.
If anyone tells you that there isn’t a high price to pay in the name of pride, they’re lying.
Walter didn’t show any reaction to my rejection of his offer. He slowly walked over and kicked the treat a couple of times, until it was inside of his room, and closed the door.
Before long, Marjorie’s room was clean, with new carpet, and a fresh coat of paint. No matter how hard I tried, I could no longer detect even the faintest aroma of her scent.
A week or so later, a lady named Ellen Lubuck, who had a cat named Jerry, who didn’t like a dog named Wrigley, moved into Marjorie’s room. Jane caught me a few times, laying a little ways down from Ellen’s door, trying to hang on to the past. Each time she brought me back to the front office.
Perhaps Jerry was a blessing in disguise, because even if Ellen had wanted my company, in my heart that space would always be reserved for Marjorie.
During this time of transition, I remembered one of Marjorie’s favorite sayings—Our days are numbered, al
l we can do is treasure our time.
How true, I thought, looking back and cherishing all of the ordinary, quiet times that she and I spent together. With her gone, they now seemed even more special.
On one of those lazy days, when Marjorie wasn’t feeling particularly well, she told me that after she passed away and got to heaven, she would send me a sign to let me know she had arrived. I wondered what it would be, and when it might happen.
13
On a quiet Sunday afternoon the following week, I encountered Walter again in an unusual way. It was the time of day when the last football game had ended, and dinner hadn’t come yet. I was hungry and bored, just wandering around in search of a snack to tide me over, or a guest to be with.
Every resident I normally visited had their doors closed, and the staff members were too busy to give me any attention. I was going to head back to the front office, but out of habit, I turned and began walking toward Marjorie’s old room. When I got near to what Carla used to call the intersection of joy and pain—in reference to her association with Marjorie and Walter—I heard classical music coming from Walter’s room.
His door was open, and I curiously poked my head inside. I was astounded by what I saw. Walter was sitting in his recliner, his head tilted back and his eyes closed, taking in the music like it was a symphony composed to save his soul. He looked like the sweetest man you’d ever seen.
The music was loud enough so that he didn’t hear me enter the room. I sniffed around his kitchen, coming up with a couple of small pieces of cheddar cheese, and some bread crumbs.
When I looked back up at Walter, he was still in complete bliss. Humans are definitely more complicated than dogs, I thought to myself. Could it be possible that Walter, like many hard things, was actually soft on the inside?
I guess I was about to find out.
When Walter opened his eyes—a few seconds after the piece of music ended—I was sitting in front of him like a well-behaved school boy, waiting for the teacher to arrive. He slowly moved his head from one side to the other, before lowering his gaze and spotting me. He was startled, but not visibly upset. He didn’t move, and neither did I. We just looked at one another for a moment, taking each other’s measure.
All That Ails You: The Adventures of a Canine Caregiver Page 5